Star Maiden
by HRM Astraea
Summary: Is it so terribly inconceivable that in a world of witchcraft and wizardry there might possibly be something that Hermione Granger would want more? A Hermione-centric, do-over fic with a twist.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thank you to all the readers who have followed on from the beginning, and thank you to those who have joined along the way.**

**Chapters 1-4 are styled as vignettes. Chapter 5 is the beginning of the story proper. I hope you enjoy! **

* * *

Chapter One: The Lost Heir

The Grangers had always known something was different about their daughter.

Precocious and stubbornly so Hermione had entered the world three weeks early with bright eyes and a dazzling smile reserved only for her parents. With every month that elapsed Hermione surpassed her milestones with an insatiability that was as charming as it was exhausting. Odd occurrences became the norm and being firmly scientific individuals Mr and Mrs Granger persistently managed to reason each one away.

The strange, almost ozone-like scent that surrounded their little girl was simply a 'new house smell', despite it preceding the date that they had moved and only appearing with extremes of emotion. The static snaps in the air when Hermione cried were blamed on 'faulty electricity' - but not one electrician seemed to be able to find anything wrong.

It was when Hermione was just over a year and a half old that one such incident occurred which simply _couldn't_ be explained away.

Mrs Granger had taken Hermione to the park one Saturday morning and was stopped by a young woman with large, almost protuberant pale eyes and hair that streamed down her back like liquid sunshine.

"Beautiful," murmured the woman, as she gazed gently down at Hermione in her stroller. Mrs Granger smiled indulgently, as it was wont for parents to do when their offspring were complimented, and nodded her thanks, preparing to push the stroller further towards the little pond. Before she could do so however the woman reached out and gently grasped her wrist.

"Wit beyond measure indeed," the woman whispered, bending to brush her free hand over Hermione's forehead and suddenly Mrs Granger found it impossible to move. With a twirl of her fingers the woman produced an odd bunch of ruffle-edged blooms in white, purple, yellow and blue, which she began weaving into Hermione's shining brown locks.

"Hope and faith, spirit and purity. Royalty, valour and wisdom, oh yes," she sang in a lilting Irish brogue, tucking each flower away with a deft hand. "The lost heir has returned."

Hermione giggled when her flower crown was almost complete, squinting at the last purple blossom in the woman's hand. With a slight scrunch of her brow, Hermione reached out a chubby little fist and Mrs Granger watched the flower float - in mid air! - towards her daughter's waiting fingers.

The woman looked up at Mrs Granger before she disappeared with a pop, her last few words and a laugh like a thousand bells echoing in the air.

"Don't worry, dear. You're just as sane as I am."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Witching Hour

Hermione curled contentedly in her favourite armchair tucked in the corner of her parents' study. Dark wood panelling and the scent of ink and books surrounded her like a blanket warmed by sunshine. She was never more content than she was in this chair, _this room_, with a book or two balanced precariously on her lap.

Hermione usually chose works that were well beyond her scope as a ten year old child - heavy tomes like Tolstoy and Tennyson that she stumbled over with dogged patience and a few kind explanations from her parents. Her father preferred biographies, reading them to her in his resonant baritone, sweeping his arm away from himself to emphasise his words. Her mother though had always preferred fiction.

Hermione's appetite for learning had earned her isolation in her small junior school class. Her exuberance had placed her on the receiving end of mean-spirited pranks and more than a few harsh words. She had learned to avoid the other children in the playground, ducking around the supervising teachers to sneak into the school library - but her father had taught her to never falter from the pursuit of knowledge, which was why she continued to raise her hand with every question she knew the answer to, despite the invariable consequences.

"Hermione dear!"

She looked up from the yellowing pages, eyebrows quirked in a frown and still trying to understand the flowery prose. Reaching over to the side table Hermione placed a lovely filigree bookmark between the sheets - _never_ dog-earing, a cardinal sin if there ever was one - and stood to answer her mother's summons.

Her parents were in the kitchen, her mother icing what appeared to be a book-shaped cake. Hermione smiled. Her mother was never one for baking.

"Is that chocolate, mum?"

"Don't be ridiculous sweetheart," her father chirped, grinning at his wife from across the counter. "It's barely edible! I think the word you were looking for is 'charcoal'."

Mrs Granger huffed before smiling good-naturedly at her husband, and began to dab ineffectually at the brown icing that was threatening to smudge into the white. Hermione laughed and tilted her head to read the title piped with a careful hand across the top of the cake.

"A Winter's Tale," she read, reaching around her mother's arm to scoop a little icing into her mouth and blinking in surprise at the sweetness. Hermione's parents were usually quite strict with unnecessary sugar in her diet. Her teeth, though perhaps a little large at the front, were quite possibly the healthiest in her school.

"It's your birthday tomorrow Hermione, I thought it would be nice to have a cake that tasted like a cake should!"

"And what with everyone assuming we were inspired by A Winter's Tale, we thought we might lean into it this year," added her father, smiling down at his daughter and smoothing back her uncontrollable curls. Hermione leaned contentedly into her father's side and handed her mother the green icing, watching her pipe what appeared to be leafy vines across the cover of her cake.

* * *

Hermione awoke on the morning of her birthday with a smile. Though her parents tended to be quite busy they made sure to dote on their only child, delighting in their shared love of history and literature. It was tradition for her parents to close their surgery and keep Hermione from school - despite it being within the first few weeks of the new term - to spend the day together as a family. She could hear the muffled voice of her mother downstairs and scrambled to get out of bed, still struggling with her dressing gown when she slid into the kitchen and into her parents' arms.

Hermione was just sitting down to her special breakfast - scones with jam, fresh strawberries and clotted cream that her father had purchased from her favourite tea shop for the occasion - when there was a firm knock at their front door.

"Knock, knock, knock! Who's there?" Her mother sang.

"Faith, here's an English tailor come hither for stealing out a French hose," her father recited, eyes twinkling at his wife and daughter.

"Macbeth," laughed Hermione, playing the game. "That one was easy, though I don't think the person at the front door needs a goose roasted."

Her father snorted and patted his mouth with his napkin before excusing himself from the breakfast table to answer the door. He had only been gone for a few minutes when, in a strained tone, he called for his wife. Hermione glanced up at her mother curiously, lips dusted with crumbs, watching as she shrugged and stood. With her mother gone, Hermione gave into temptation and reached into the pocket of her dressing gown for a diminutive book with a fading blue cloth cover and began to read. She usually wasn't allowed books at the table.

So engrossed in the text was Hermione that it took a few moments to realise her parents were watching her from the doorway. She glanced up guiltily, excuses at her lips, but was surprised into silence by the tall woman who stood between them. Her clothing was almost ridiculous, moss-green velvet flowing like liquid to the floor, clasped at her throat with a gold brooch shaped like a crescent moon. Perched atop a sternly secured slightly-greying bun was a conical hat. Hermione blinked - had her parents gone so far as to hire a pretend witch for her birthday?

The woman smiled at her and despite the stranger's stern countenance Hermione found herself smiling back, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling in a strange but not unpleasant way. Hermione's parents stood transfixed, staring at their daughter, jumping slightly when the woman addressed them with a strangely familiar accent.

"Isn't it peculiar how many things one can miss simply because we think them impossible?"

* * *

**A/N: Please do review, if you have a spare minute! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews - they are much appreciated!**

* * *

Chapter 3: Tyche

"A witch?"

The word echoed within the walls of the formal lounge. Hermione was perched between her parents on a sleek pale grey couch facing Professor McGonagall - as she had introduced herself - who sat sipping at her tea on one of the opposite occasional chairs. The extra scones, jam and cream from Hermione's birthday breakfast were artfully arranged on a silver tea service set atop a polished mahogany coffee table between them. Hermione pressed her toes into the plush rug below, trying to ground herself while her mind raced.

"Miss Granger, I know this must be difficult to grasp-"

"I was just thinking that - well, you see, there have been so many instances - but then, there was always something that seemed to - I'm so sorry, I'm not even sure what to say," interrupted Hermione, hands wringing in her lap and a strange excitement bubbling within her chest. Hermione's father glanced down at his daughter before speaking.

"Professor McGonagall, I can't seem to find the words to convey our-"

"Skepticism?" Professor McGonagall smiled. "Mr Granger, your hesitancy is understandable. I would expect no less, but surely you have noticed odd things. Things that you may not have been able to adequately explain - not for lack of trying, I'm sure."

The doctors Granger glanced at each other over Hermione's head. Mrs Granger's arm was clasped protectively around her daughter's shoulders, lips pressed together and, up until now, strangely silent.

"The lady, dear," she began hesitantly. "The lady at the park."

They both knew however that the mysterious meeting at the park all those years ago was just one incident in a veritable sea of unexplainable occurrences.

Professor McGonagall reached into her cloak, withdrew a thick envelope and extended it towards Hermione, who frowned at the smooth material. It looked almost medieval, almost like -

"Parchment," Hermione murmured in delight, running her fingers lightly over the surface, eyes devouring the emerald ink looping across the front that confirmed the letter was indeed meant for her. After receiving a nod from her father, Hermione moved to break the seal at the back before eyeing the professor, lips quirking.

"I would have thought it obvious not to tickle a sleeping dragon."

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows shot up in surprise and Mr Granger allowed a proud smile at her inquiring glance. Hermione's mother laughed softly and examined the crest embossed on the envelope herself. Though the lion, the serpent and the raven were almost typical main charges on a coat of arms, a badger was indeed unusual.

"You can understand Latin, child?"

"Not fluently, of course," Hermione mumbled distractedly, breaking the seal on the envelope and carefully sliding the precisely folded letters from within.

"Of course," Professor McGonagall agreed, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Our Hermione likes to read," said Mrs Granger, the corners of her lips twitching upwards despite herself as her husband snorted in response. Oblivious to the exchange, Hermione moved to spread the parchment reverently over what little space remained on the coffee table and began to read.

* * *

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Ms. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

* * *

"_Order of Merlin_," Hermione began, incredulously. "Surely you can't possibly mean that _Merlin_ was real?"

"Indeed, Merlin and Nimue both," nodded Professor McGonagall. Hermione filed that information away for further thought and looked back down at her letter, giggling a little deliriously at the word 'mugwump' before a flash of alarm appeared on her face.

"If term began on the 1st of September, does that mean I'm already behind?!"

"Not in the slightest, Miss Granger. Prospective students receive their letter on their eleventh birthday. As you were not quite old enough for the year that just began you will join the following year's cohort - assuming, of course, you elect to attend."

Hermione peeked up at her parents but didn't dare to ask. She could hardly believe herself that this wasn't an elaborate prank in spite of the fact that _magic_ seemed the perfect explanation to otherwise inexplicable events. Her heart sunk a little as the rational corner of her mind implored her that this _couldn't possibly_ be real.

"I just can't seem to believe it, as much as I truly want to," she said quietly.

The professor nodded again and pulled from within her left sleeve a length of pale, tapered wood and held it aloft as one would do with a conductor's baton.

"This is a wand. It is an instrument that focuses a witch or wizard's magic. With some focus and the correct words and wand movements, one can cast a spell," she explained. She glanced at Hermione's parents, seemingly for permission to proceed, and did so when they shrugged uncertainly. Hermione leaned as far forward as physically possible without leaving her seat, fidgeting with nervous energy.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Professor McGonagall intoned crisply, gesturing with her wand towards the tea service on the coffee table. Hermione followed the_ swish-and-flick_ of the wand tip with curious eyes and gasped as the heavy silver teapot her grandmother had gifted her mother on her wedding day rose steadily into the air. Unable to quite stop herself, she stood and waved an arm over the teapot, then under it, then turned to stare at her parents.

"I knew it," she whispered, eyes burning bright with an almost ferocious conviction. "I knew there was something different about me. Everyone else at school - they aren't like me, mum, but there's a school somewhere full of people just like me! You must let me go! Please, Dad!"

Hermione's voice had risen in her excitement, words tumbling over each other in her haste to impress upon her parents the sudden scorching _need_ that had gripped her.

"Sweetheart, this is a lot for us to take in," began her mother. "This is an important decision, and I'm sure you can understand we will need some time and a lot more discussion before we can even begin to consider this. Before we can really even begin to _understand_ this."

Hermione nodded and glanced back down at her letter, examining once again the Hogwarts crest. Her head shot up to look at the professor who was settling the teapot back to its tray.

"Goodness! Do you mean to say there really are such things as _dragons_?"

* * *

With years of experience in conducting innumerable similar meetings, Professor McGonagall was well prepared to answer the flood of questions that had faced her - so much so that she had perfected a monologue that provided what she believed was necessary information for Muggle parents to make an informed decision about their magical child's future.

"The wizarding world functions similarly to the non-magical world in that there is a ministry, The Ministry of Magic, that acts as the governing body of magical peoples and sentient magical beings. Though we recognise the authority of Her Majesty The Queen of England, we are essentially a separate society."

When there were no exclamations condemning her of sedition, which had occurred more than a few times in the past, she took a sip of her fresh cup of tea and continued on.

"Muggleborns - that is to say, wizards or witches with non magical parents - are an integral part of Wizarding society. Pureblood children are the product of magical parents, and Halfblood children, as you can imagine, have one magical _and_ one non-magical, or muggle, parent. There are very few ancestrally Pureblood families remaining and they amount to what is essentially the peerage in the Wizarding world. In my opinion, however, it matters naught what your ancestry is when it comes to wielding magic."

The professor rearranged herself on the armchair, back still ramrod straight, and continued.

"There are those that would look down upon Muggleborns and Halfbloods, and in fact a terrible war was waged because of it, concluding just over a decade ago. I want to impress upon you that the opinion of the wider magical community largely reflects my own."

She paused. It was here in her speech that Professor McGonagall expected resistance. She watched as the Grangers exchanged an uneasy glance, Hermione tilting her head to look up at her parents, before Mr Granger motioned for her to continue on. She expected she would be questioned further regarding what had amounted to a race war when young, impressionable ears weren't present.

"Hogwarts is the premier Ministry-recognised educational facility in the United Kingdom. It is the only institution that offers both OWL and NEWT level courses - these would translate to your Muggle 'O Levels' and 'A Levels' respectively. There are of course a few smaller centres that provide magical education but to find schools on par with ours you would need to look internationally."

Hermione was once again astounded that there was another community - an _international_ community - hidden so carefully away from their own.

"Your education comprises of seven years. Hogwarts is a boarding facility, and as such you are required to remain on campus throughout the term. Students have the option of returning home for Christmas and summer holidays. On arrival at Hogwarts you will be sorted into one of four houses which will function as your family within Hogwarts. You will sleep in your house dormitories and eat at your house table."

Mrs Granger traced her finger over the four stylised animals on the Hogwarts crest, looking down at the top of her daughter's head. Her little face was almost obscured by a cloud of curly brown hair but she knew her daughter would be hanging on every word, excited about finally _belonging_. A sudden panic seized her chest.

She was going to lose her little girl.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read my work! Please do leave a review.**

**I truly _cannot imagine_ a world in which Minerva McGonagall does not take her job introducing Muggleborns and their parents to the Wizarding world seriously. **

**Can anyone guess what kind of flowers made up Hermione's crown in the first chapter? **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for your time!**

* * *

Mr Granger reached out and grasped Hermione's wrist, watching carefully as a dingy looking pub appeared out of nowhere on the opposite side of the street.

"Incredible," he murmured.

The Grangers had spent the last few months debating back and forth the merits of their daughter attending a boarding school for magic, finally agreeing to Professor McGonagall's request that they accompany her to the central wizarding shopping district, Diagon Alley. It was a cold Tuesday morning in February, the date so chosen so the streets of the Alley wouldn't be too crowded, and Hermione had never been so excited in her life.

Professor McGonagall led them across the street and instructed Mr and Mrs Granger to keep hold of Hermione until they crossed the threshold of the pub. After a brief greeting to the bartender Tom the group found themselves outside once again, this time through the back door, facing a nondescript brick wall. After few taps with the professor's wand, which Hermione carefully memorised, the Grangers stood open-mouthed as the bricks rearranged themselves to form an archway.

Professor McGonagall turned and smiled at the rapturous expression on Hermione's face.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley."

* * *

Hermione felt like she was coming home.

Magic tickled against her skin and pricked at the fine hairs on the back of her neck and with each breath she thought she could _taste_ it against her tongue.

There were almost too many things to see. Shopfronts displayed the most incredible things for sale - was that an actual _cauldron_? - and owls flew over their heads with _letters_ clutched in their talons. Snow banks had piled up against the doors and Hermione watched in astonishment as a broomstick swept the threshold of a shop without anyone so much as touching it. Professor McGonagall kindly slowed her pace to allow the Grangers to take in as much as they could.

Witches and wizards were scurrying from shop to shop, cloaks pulled tightly against the cold weather. The snippets of conversation that reached their ears almost sounded like a foreign language.

"Can you _believe_ the price of ground bicorn horn these days-"

"- almost lost myself in the Floo this morning-"

"- I should bloody well think so! It's about time they started regulating cauldron bottom thickness!"

Hermione had to be physically dragged from the front of a shop with a small sign proclaiming it as 'Obscurus Books'. Though she had memorised the list of which books were required for her first year - she had read her Hogwarts acceptance letter _at least_ once daily since receiving it - it had not become apparent to her up until now that there was a whole new world of books just waiting for her. _Books about magic_.

Professor McGonagall ushered them into a cozy tea shop and shucked her heavy cloak as she took a seat at a polished round table. The Grangers removed their winter coats and scarves and sat, staring at the clean white cloth polishing the silver by itself at the counter. A young woman with a hastily tied apron took their order and disappeared into the back of the shop.

"Have you thought much further about your decision?"

The waitress returned and set their order on the table. Hermione watched the her father add a dash of cream to his tea.

"What would happen if we didn't want Hermione to go to Hogwarts? Or any magical school for that matter?"

Professor McGonagall shifted and Hermione stared down at her trembling fingers.

"Wizarding Law would mandate that Hermione's magic be bound. There would be very little risk of further accidental magic. An Unbinding is possible in the future, however once unbound her magic will be unstable and untrained. She would be required to be placed in a program, that is if she ever wanted to join magical society. It is much harder to learn to control magic as an adult than it is as a child."

Mrs Granger nodded and reached a soothing hand to brush Hermione's curls away from her face.

"And if she should attend your school, would would become of her 'Muggle' education?"

Hermione's head snapped up, eyes round and hopeful.

"As you can imagine Hogwarts classes do not translate well to Muggle ones so we cannot offer transcripts post graduation that would be accepted by a Muggle University. However, some Muggleborn children choose to continue their Muggle education through postal courses and summer schools. Many of our Muggleborn graduates go on to study at Muggle University and find a line of work that sits midway between Muggle and magical, for example within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

Mr Granger looked at his wife, then at their child.

"Is this what you want, Hermione?"

"Very much, dad," she whispered, clutching at the scarf in her lap. Her father reached out to grasp her mother's hand and seemed to steel himself for what he was about to say.

"My wife and I have thought long and hard about this decision. We cannot justify preventing Hermione accessing her magic - it would be like telling her she could never read a book again. If she can still maintain her 'Muggle' education, we accept."

There was a clatter as Hermione leapt at her parents with a stream of _thankyouthankyouthankyous_ that had her mother laughing. Professor McGonagall sipped her tea, smiling.

"Very well then, Miss Granger. Congratulations on your decision to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I think it is time we had a look at your list of necessary books and equipment, don't you think?"

* * *

The wand store was dark and cluttered. Dust motes caught in the meagre sunlight filtering from the windows between stacked boxes and Hermione shivered as magic pressed up against her. Professor McGonagall looked down at her, a small frown creasing her forehead.

"Can you feel that, child?"

Hermione looked up and nodded and the professor's frown deepened.

There was a rustle from the back of the store and between narrow aisles appeared a wizened man with a puff of cloudy white hair. Hermione could feel her parents at her shoulders as Professor McGonagall stepped forward and introduced them.

"Ah, Miss Granger," he began in a tremulous voice, shuffling around the counter to greet his customers.

"This is a momentous occasion for a magical child and their family. Hold up your wand arm, dear! The hand you use to write will do!"

Hermione blinked and raised her right hand and with a flick of his wrist Mr Ollivander summoned a tape measure which began measuring the distance between the tip of her thumb and her elbow.

"Now," Ollivander began, tottering back towards the towering aisles and sliding boxes from the shelves seemingly at random.

"The wand chooses the witch, of course."

Hermione nodded distractedly, cross-eyed as she tried to focus on the tape which was now measuring the length of her nose.

"That's enough," Ollivander said, and the tape dropped to the floor and lay unmoving. Ollivander opened a dusty box to reveal a polished dark wand and offered it to Hermione.

"Ebony with unicorn tail. Nice and springy."

With a hesitant hand, Hermione picked up the wand and held it in front of her. Mr and Mrs Granger, like their daughter, were staring at the wand and all three jumped when Ollivander chuckled.

"Well, give it a wave!"

Hermione did, feeling foolish, and then gasped when a precariously balanced pile of wand boxes toppled to the floor. Ollivander plucked the wand from her hand and replaced it with a deep red wand.

"Cypress, unicorn tail. Rigid - oh, no. Definitely not!"

The wand was snatched from her fingers as the windows rattled and the glass in a nearby picture frame shattered.

"Gracious, did you say _unicorn tail_?"

"Why yes, Mrs Granger. Unicorn tail hair is a common wand core - freely given, of course. Now, Miss Granger, this particular core does not seem to agree with you. Shall we try something else?"

* * *

The pile of unmatched wands grew to Hermione's left and contrary to what she expected Ollivander seemed to get more excited with each failure. Hermione though grew more and more despondent.

"Is it possible that there has been a mistake and there's no wand that fits me?"

Ollivander chuckled and shook his head.

"The magic in you is so bright it's almost blinding," he laughed delightedly, shuffling further into the back of his shop. Professor McGonagall, who was perched on a stool to the side reading through a newspaper with _moving pictures_ frowned again.

There was splutter of coughing and Ollivander reappeared, brushing a thick layer of dust from a pale wooden box carved with an intricate design of tangled vines. He placed the box on the counter almost reverently in front of Hermione and stepped back with a calculating look in his eye.

At the impatient flutter of his hands, Hermione stepped forward and placed her hand on the box. There was a click from within it and a crackle of electricity in the air.

"That's the one," said Mr Granger, and then shrugged at the look of surprise from everyone in the room but Ollivander himself.

"Can't you smell it? It's like standing in the woods during a thunderstorm."

Hermione opened the box and stared at the pale wand nestled within it, brushing a finger over what looked like a faded crest on the inside of the lid - she could almost make out some kind of animal if she squinted. At another impatient fidget from Ollivander she turned her attention to the wand nestled in a crushed velvet of a blue so dark it was almost black. Her eyes traced the design of interwoven vines at the hilt and reached forward to touch the tip of her finger to the base. Her hair stood on end.

She picked it up and warmth rushed from her arm to the tips of her toes. The length of wood felt like an extension of her body and she suddenly couldn't remember what it felt like to be without it. Hermione waved it gently and from the tip of the wand poured a riot of sparks.

They were gold, blue, purple and white.

* * *

**A/N: Please do leave a review. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: While any iris symbolises royalty, wisdom and valour, the colour of the bloom also affects the message that the flower carries.**

**Thank you for reading!**

* * *

Chapter 5: Abeona

Hermione Granger was nervous.

She sat at her father's desk in the wood-panelled study on the evening of August 31st, toes just brushing the carpeted floor as she swung her legs back and forth. Textbooks sat next to corresponding piles of filled notebook paper, each topped with carefully handwritten chapter summaries on scrolls of parchment. She had read through each of her eight prescribed first year textbooks innumerable times and had supplemented her knowledge with extra books she had purchased during her three subsequent trips to Diagon Alley.

Still, she felt underprepared.

It had taken weeks for her to get a handle on using a quill - why the wizarding world hadn't adopted the use of biros and notebooks was beyond her - and even then it had irked her that she hadn't managed the lovely cursive script in the calligraphy book she had borrowed from the local library. Hermione Granger was many things, but artist she was not.

Reaching out and smoothing her hand over the cover of _Hogwarts: A History_, Hermione couldn't help but smile. It certainly had taken pride of place as her favourite book, despite its tendency to gloss over what Hermione thought was fairly important information. The Sorting Ceremony, for example, was mentioned frustratingly little, and when she had asked the proprietor of Flourish and Blott's for further information he had leaned over the counter, tapped her on the nose and infuriatingly quipped, "You'll find out soon enough!".

She turned her attention to _Modern Magical History_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century _and felt her eyebrows pull into a frown. Her father had always taught her to take any text without proper referencing with a grain of salt and she couldn't help but feel that the information in the book, at least regarding the most recent events, was slightly misrepresented. After all, _how on earth_ could a one year old baby kill one of the most feared dark wizards of all time?

She had tried to find further texts concerning one Harry Potter but grew vexed with the amount of fiction she was presented with. She had even consulted _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Geneology_, which she had come across by chance while searching for a text on wandlore on a low shelf at Obscurus Books, but the pretentiousness of both the title and contents had made her lip curl with distaste.

"You are the picture of overprepared, dear."

Hermione jumped and watched her mother step into the room.

"Don't you think its time you finished packing," her mother said, running her fingers through Hermione's hair. She reached out her hand, grasped Hermione's little one in hers and led her out of the study.

* * *

Hermione looked down at her neatly packed trunk and brushed her fingers over the vinewood box that housed her wand. She still felt a thrill every time she was near it and it was absolute torture not being able to try the spells in her textbooks.

Hermione's mother handed her a small but heavy pouch that clinked as it settled into her palm. She pulled at the drawstring and peeked inside, her dark eyes reflecting the gleam of wizarding currency. She was still astonished that goblins were honest-to-goodness real and a feeling of uneasiness returned as she thought back to the time when she had first met one. Her father had mumbled something about why things weren't to be fed after midnight, to hysterical giggles from her mother, but both had quietened considerably when a goblin glared at them over the golf-ball sized rubies he had been inspecting.

"Now, that should last you until Christmas," her mother said, smiling.

"More like until next summer! The pound to galleon exchange rate almost gave me a heart attack," laughed her father as he clicked her trunk closed.

"Thank you, mum, dad," Hermione mumbled, looking at them in turn with tears welling in her eyes. She had only just realised that it would be nearly four months until she was back home again.

"Come here, sweetheart," her mother said, opening her arms to Hermione as her father reached over to tug at one of her curls.

"It's not as bad as all that, dear. Write to us often and we will write back - now that we know how to attach letters to those blasted birds - and you will be back at home before you know it."

Hermione laughed through her tears. Her father had expressly forbade her from owning an owl - he had a strong dislike of all birds - but had begrudgingly consented to delivery owls addressed _only_ to Mrs Granger, grumbling about the backwards nature of wizarding society.

Mr Granger hefted the trunk into his arms and exaggeratedly staggered out of the room, followed by a giggling Hermione. Mrs Granger smiled, standing from the bed to lean against the door, looking into her daughter's bedroom. It was almost painfully neat - the bed made with corners tightly tucked, books arranged meticulously on numerous bookshelves by genre and then alphabetically by the author's last name. It already felt empty.

Mrs Granger stepped forward and slid a slim book from the third shelf, lovingly brushing the cover. She turned and strode out of the room, joining her husband and daughter as they prepared for the journey to King's Cross.

* * *

Hermione fidgeted as she sat in the empty compartment having bid a tearful goodbye to her parents moments beforehand.

She had already changed into her school robes, pulling her hair back into a barely contained ponytail dubiously secured with a green ribbon that she had received from her grandmother last Christmas, and settled herself onto the plush seats. As the train pulled out from the station Hermione glanced up at her trunk, which was stored securely in the overhead rack, and then down at her wand which was clutched tightly in her hand. She looked around surreptitiously and slid the compartment door partially closed, before whispering the incantation for the illumination spell.

The tip of her wand lit up brilliantly and Hermione bit her lip to keep from squealing. She pointed her wand at the seat in front of her and repaired the unraveling seam with a sharp jab and a mumbled '_reparo_'. With a twist of her wand and a whisper the window unlocked with a click.

She glanced at the book her mother had given her, placed carefully by her side, and then looked back at the wand.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," she murmured hesitantly, swishing and flicking her wand, mimicking Professor McGonagall as best she could. The book remained stubbornly on the seat next to her.

"Try elongating the 'oh' in 'Leviosa'."

The cultured voice made Hermione jump and the book clattered to the floor. Leaning against the compartment door was a pale boy with a pointed chin, arms folded across his chest and legs crossed at the ankle. He was smiling openly, gesturing his hand for her to continue.

"_Wingardiam Leviosa_," she muttered shyly, and couldn't help the pleased smile she sent the boy as the book rose into the air.

"Impressive," the boy chuckled as he stepped forward and closed his hand around the book, keeping his grey eyes firmly on hers.

"Window locks are tricky," he said. "Especially on the train. They reinforce those you know."

She nodded timidly. She _did_ know. It was in _Hogwarts: A History_.

"I feel I would have remembered you if I had seen you before - after all, you're wearing the right colours," he said, nodding imperiously at the emerald ribbon winding through her hair. "You must be from the continent."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but before she could he had glanced down at her book, features pulling into a sullen frown.

"What are you doing with this? I know the continent is more liberal with these things but a lady of good standing shouldn't have books like this."

Hermione blinked, confused. A lady of good standing?

"It's my book. My parents bought it for me when I was born."

Palms clammy and the sick feeling of deja vu twisting in her gut, Hermione watched as the boy dropped the book as if burned, features contorting with disgust. He stepped quickly backwards, as if trying to put as much distance between them as possible, lip curling into a sneer.

"Filthy mudblood," he spat, eyes flashing as he stalked away.

* * *

Hermione could feel her chest contract and her throat burn and she swallowed against the tears. _This_ is how it had started before. Hateful glares and horrible names, only this time it was because of her non-magical ancestry, not her know-it-all tendencies. She had a feeling before long it would be for both.

Hermione quickly bent down to pick up the book, brushing the dust from the cover and tracing her finger over the little illustrated rabbit.

"Excuse me," began a timid voice and Hermione shrank bank in her seat, head snapping up to see a round-faced boy hovering near the door.

"Sorry- sorry to bother you," he stuttered, fingers clenching and unclenching around the handle of a polished trunk.

"I was hoping I could share your compartment. The other one I was in - well, he had a few friends and we couldn't all fit, so I..."

He trailed off, staring at her as she rapidly blinked back her tears.

"I'm muggleborn," Hermione said abruptly.

The boy opened and then closed his mouth, a little frown on his face, and Hermione could feel her heart sink.

"Okay?"

Hermione blinked and so did the boy, who then tentatively shuffled a little further into the compartment. The wheels of his trunk became stuck in the track of the compartment door and he struggled to pull it along behind him, one arm wrapped around a terrarium that contained a glistening plump toad.

"My name is Neville. Er, Longbottom," he said, bobbing his head at her awkwardly and perching at the edge of his seat as if waiting for her to tell him to leave.

"Hermione Granger," she murmured. "You really don't mind that I'm muggleborn?"

"No - should I? Gran said there are some people who don't like muggleborns but it's - well, it's not an issue for me," Neville said quietly, smiling tentatively at Hermione when she did the same.

"It's nice to meet you Neville."

* * *

**A/N: I always wondered who Hermione had shared a compartment with on her first journey to Hogwarts. **

**Please do leave a review! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you for your time! **

* * *

Chapter 6: Hestia

Hermione giggled as Neville coughed and spluttered, reaching over to thump him on the back.

He had somehow summoned enough courage to nibble on the end of a little grey bean he had fished out of the box labelled 'Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans' and she could tell he regretted it. Hermione herself preferred the pumpkin pasties they had bought from the dimpled lady who had been pushing a food cart through the train at half twelve - but had yet to understand the appeal of the pumpkin juice she had also been selling.

"It's - well, it's just so common, I suppose," Neville had said. "It would be like asking why the English drink tea."

Hermione found that she got along famously with Neville. Although shy at first, Neville had warmed to her considerably and Hermione felt that their easy camaraderie was in part due to his endearingly guileless nature as well as what she believed was the shared experience of a friendless childhood.

The countryside that was speeding by the window had just become wilder when Neville pulled a little jar of what appeared to be dead flies out of his pocket and leaned over to his terrarium. Hermione watched as his face suddenly drained of colour.

"Neville, are you alright?"

"Trevor," he whispered hoarsely. "Gran is going to kill me - I've lost him again!"

Hermione reached over and patted Neville on the shoulder comfortingly.

"It's alright, I'll help you find him. You go ahead and look through the train corridor - I'll look around here and then come and find you."

Neville stuttered his thanks and tripped over his shoes as he left. Hermione shook her head - she still didn't understand why anyone would want to keep a toad - but obligingly searched the corners and underneath the seats of their compartment. Empty-handed and no toad in sight, Hermione sighed and stepped out into the train corridor. Walking to the nearest compartment, Hermione knocked on the door and then slid it open.

"Sorry," she began, then fell silent as she was faced with the same pale boy from earlier. He was sitting with a girl with mousy brown hair and a slightly upturned nose and a dark skinned boy that sneered at her from where he was lounging near the window. The pale boy began to frown, eyes flickering to her green hair ribbon, and Hermione stepped out of the compartment hastily, slamming the door shut. There was murmuring from within the compartment, then a loud, derisive laugh. Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks as she ripped the ribbon out of her hair and stuffed it into her robe pocket.

She was still flustered as she scurried to the next compartment, bumping into Neville.

"Are you alright Hermione?"

"Just fine," she said, wincing as she noted that her voice had become a little shrill. "I searched our compartment but I couldn't find him. I don't think he was in the compartment I just checked. Toads like damp and dark places, so we should probably check somewhere like that - you know, like mossy rocks or wet leaves. I mean, that's where I would go if I were a toad."

Neville's eyes widened and Hermione clamped her mouth shut, embarrassed. She tended to ramble when she was caught off guard. It was why she had never been a very good liar.

Hermione turned and slid open the next compartment door, so unsettled that she didn't knock, and found a ginger haired boy with a scruffy rat on his lap, wand held aloft.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost his," she interrupted, wincing internally. She usually wasn't this rude. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Hermione missed what the red-haired boy had said next as her eyes caught his wand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Lets see it then," she said, excited at the prospect of learning a new spell, and perched herself on the seat next to a dark haired boy that shared the compartment. Neville hovered uncertainly at the doorway.

The boy cleared his throat, lifted his wand and mumbled a ridiculous rhyme. The rat on his lap remained a dull grey and Hermione sat back, unimpressed. It must have showed on her face because the boy gave her a disgruntled look that set Hermione's teeth on edge.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" Hermione knew her voice had turned from enthusiastic to snotty but she couldn't seem to help herself - she'd about had it with ill-tempered boys. "It's not very good, is it?"

Neville shifted and Hermione clamped her mouth shut again, disappointed in herself. Her behaviour was in no way helping with her hope for a less isolated school experience.

"Sorry. My name is Hermione Granger," she said contritely. The two boys were still staring at her, stunned, and Hermione's fingers began to fidget in her lap. She gestured at Neville and introduced him too.

"I'm Ron Weasley," muttered the ginger.

"Harry Potter," said the dark haired boy.

"Goodness, are you really?"

Harry's eyes turned flat and distant at her outburst and Hermione frowned.

"You're in a lot of the books I bought for extra reading," Hermione murmured, noting his surprise with concern. "I think you should take a look at them. I would, if I were you."

There was silence. Hermione didn't know how to bring up libel and defamation without stepping out of bounds so instead awkwardly stood from the seat and bid them goodbye, Neville dogging her steps back to their compartment.

* * *

Hermione pulled the window shade down to block the amber glare of the setting sun, blinking as a torch flared to life above the compartment door. Neville rummaged through his trunk, still forlorn at the loss of Trevor and what he described as impending doom in the form of his formidable grandmother, and pulled out his school robes.

Hermione could tell that Neville came from wealth. The brass fittings of his polished trunk shone in the firelight and his robes were somehow darker and softer than her own despite the matching Hogwart's crest on the right breast. The only thing he seemed to own that had not been bought new was his wand, which he had described to her was his father's before it had been handed down to him.

Hermione did not pry into his family circumstances. She had already considered that if Neville had been raised by his grandmother that something terrible must have happened to his parents and afforded him the same privacy she would have wanted for herself if she had been in the same situation. Still, there was the matter of his unmatched wand.

"Neville," she began hesitantly, looking at his wand which was resting on the seat next to him. Neville glanced down at it.

"I know. The wand chooses the wizard," he whispered, picking up his father's wand and staring at it. Although carefully polished, the oddly singed end and the various nicks and scratches that marred the wood were thrown into sharp relief in the flickering torchlight. He looked up at her, eyes large and sorrowful. "But what could I do?"

Hermione sighed heavily and nodded, directing him instead to the interesting looking plants in Trevor's terrarium. If there was one thing she had learned about him it was that he really loved plants - the odder, the better.

Neville was five minutes into the surprisingly fascinating history and uses of a dark green moss - one which One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi had neglected to cover in detail - when they were both startled by a howl and the slamming of a door. Hermione stood and peered into the corridor but stepped quickly back when the pale haired boy stormed past, his previously slicked-back hair in disarray. He was flanked by two large walking boulders, one of whom was nursing a bleeding knuckle.

"Draco Malfoy," said Neville quietly, nodding after the trio. Hermione sniffed. What an absolutely _ridiculous_ name.

They both ducked into the corridor and stared wide eyed at the mess in Harry and Ron's compartment.

"You haven't been fighting, have you?" Hermione was aghast. She bent down to gather what looked like wizarding trading cards and handed them back to Harry, pausing to read the card entitled 'Albus Dumbledore'.

"Scabbers was fighting, not us," grumbled Ron as Harry thanked her. Hermione looked up from the card in her hand and glanced at the mangy rat she supposed was Scabbers, sniffing in distaste. As much her father hated birds, Hermione hated rodents.

"He seems like a horrid boy," Hermione stated, looking over her shoulder into the corridor as if worried her words would summon the blond haired boy. Neville nodded emphatically and Ron snorted. Harry recounted the story of meeting the boy at Madame Malkin's as he swept pasty crumbs from the seats.

Hermione waved her wand, which had been clutched tightly in her hand, and watched as a good portion of the debris disappeared with a muttered _'Scourgify'_.

"Thanks," muttered Ron, clearly and unwillingly impressed, before explaining that Draco Malfoy was the son of a known supporter of the dark wizard that had killed Harry's parents.

"The Malfoys were one of the first to come to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it."

Hermione nodded again and glanced out the darkening window before she spoke.

"You'd better change into your robes. I think we're nearly there."

* * *

The platform was crowded with students, most of whom were proceeding towards a line of carriages stationed at the base of the hill. A large man - though large seemed like an understatement - was calling for all first years to follow him to a crumbling dock with an equally decrepit fleet of little boats bobbing merrily in the water next to it.

"No more 'n four to a boat!"

Hermione reached out and snagged the sleeve of Neville's robe, dragging him to the boat that Harry and Ron were cautiously stepping into. Neville looked at the boat and at the black waters that surrounded it, before gulping and clambering in after Hermione. Once seated he kept his eyes resolutely fixed to the giant man that had commandeered a boat to himself. Hermione hid a smile and scooted close to Neville, pressing her arm against his in a silent gesture of comfort.

With a tap of an absurdly pink umbrella the fleet shot forward. Neville looked a bit green as he clutched the side of their boat, but when they ducked under a curtain of ivy even he was distracted from his almost perpetual state of terror by the resplendence of the castle.

"Oh my goodness," whispered Hermione reverently. Harry looked over his shoulder at her, grinning almost deliriously, and she saw in his startling green eyes the same feeling that had enveloped her at the sight.

_They were home._

* * *

The doors to the castle were ludicrously large, towering over their small frames and dwarfing even Hagrid.

Harry had explained to her who the giant man was as they slipped and slid over the mossy stone pier, Ron reaching back and grabbing the collar of Neville's robes as he almost fell backwards into the water. Even the threat of near drowning hadn't dampened Neville's spirits - Hagrid had found Trevor hidden aboard a rowboat.

Magic swirled thick in the air around her as Hermione stepped closer to the door. Her already uncontrollable hair seemed to spark at the ends and Hermione shivered as Hagrid knocked his fist heavily against it. The door swung open to reveal Professor McGonagall standing imperiously before them and Hermione couldn't help but grin.

The new first years trailed after the professor as she strode through the stone floors towards a small antechamber. She turned to face them and delivered a short monologue about the sorting, ending it with a recommendation to 'smarten up' before disappearing through a wooden door to the great hall beyond. Hermione fidgeted, gripped with a sudden nervousness, and smoothed her hands down her robe front. She glanced at Neville and reached over to straighten his cloak, then turned to Ron who had just finished a muttered conversation with Harry.

"You have a bit of dirt on your nose," she whispered to him, then motioned to the left side of his face. "Just there."

Ron pinked and began scrubbing his face with his robe sleeve after a muttered 'thank you'.

Hermione smiled and looked away, pushing her hair back from her face and twisting to glance around the room. Her eyes caught Draco Malfoy's and she stood rooted to the spot, staring unblinkingly back at him. Hermione's eyebrows quirked into a frown and she watched as his face mirrored hers.

There was a shriek and Hermione's eyes snapped up before she took a few steps back in shock.

"Are those -"

"Ghosts," Neville whispered, nodding. "One of my ancestors haunts our stables."

Hermione giggled a little hysterically at the absurdity of his statement.

The group quieted as Professor McGonagall reappeared and motioned for them to form a line. Hermione shuffled next to Neville and fisted her trembling hands into her robe pockets. Neville lightly bumped his shoulder into hers and she smiled at him. Hermione took a deep breath as the professor began to speak.

"It's time for your sorting. Please follow me."

* * *

**A/N: Please do leave a review! **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you for your time!**

* * *

Chapter 7: Janus

The ceiling was breathtaking.

Hermione caught Neville staring at the twinkling stars, mouth agape, and smiled.

"The ceiling is enchanted to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_," she whispered to Neville.

Hermione tried to keep her eyes on the stars and the floating candles to distract herself from the stares of the older students. She had always been painfully shy - in social situations at least - and found herself grateful for her mass of chestnut curls as her ears burned bright red.

Led by Professor McGonagall the first years huddled near the front of the great hall before a dusty, heavily patched wizard's hat perched on a shabby three-legged stool. Everyone including the professors sitting at the long table at the head of the hall stared intently at the hat. After a confused glance at Neville, who shrugged, Hermione stared at it too - jumping when a rip near the brim moved and the hat began to sing. Hermione blinked, astonished.

"We just have to try on an old hat?! I'm going to kill Fred!"

Ron's furious whisper carried to Hermione and she couldn't help but giggle as a taller, older version of Ron at the Gryffindor table grinned cheekily at them, his twin mirroring him at his side. Professor McGonagall stepped forward at the conclusion of the Sorting Hat's song with a scroll in her hand. Clearing her throat, she began calling names in alphabetical order and Hermione watched anxiously as the hat promptly began to allocate houses to her fellow first years.

"Hermione Granger!"

Hermione felt Neville pat her on the shoulder as she stepped forward, head bowed to allow her hair to fall forward and obscure as much of her face as possible without looking absurd, and turned to sit on the chair. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head and she jumped when it spoke in her mind, the ragged brim slipping over her eyes.

_Miss Granger._

Its voice was strangely androgynous and echoed as if it were speaking many times over.

**Yes, Mr - Mrs - er, sorry. Yes, Professor Hat?**

A chuckle reverberated in her skull as she pushed the brim back up to her forehead, blushing in mortification. Hermione tried to distract herself from her embarrassment by attempting focus on each echo in the hat's voice but found herself, quite atypically, unable to concentrate.

_'Hat' will do. You're an interesting one._

**Oh?**

_Wisdom indeed. You will be a credit to Ravenclaw's legacy._

Hermione had reasoned as much when she had read about the four houses. Ravenclaw prized intelligence and wit and Hermione wasn't shy to admit that they were her best qualities. She had actually thought Hufflepuff would be a close second as she had always been a very hard worker. She wasn't a Slytherin, that much she knew - she had never been very cunning - and she certainly didn't possess the famed Gryffindor valour either.

_You underestimate yourself, child._

Hermione blinked and waited for the hat to announce her house.

_You are a true Ravenclaw. It's almost as if you were born for it._

The hat sounded almost amused and Hermione shivered as she could feel its magic pressing at her temples, chills racing down the back of her neck and leaving fine hairs standing at rigid attention in their wake.

_You can feel my magic._

**Yes**.

_How very interesting._

Hermione began to wonder why she was still sitting on the stool. She could hear murmurs growing in volume from the four long tables that took up the majority of the Great Hall and her face was burning at the attention.

_They've termed this a hatstall._

The hat sounded derisive and Hermione couldn't help but smile a little at its high handedness.

_I have never once failed to sort a child. That is to say, I have always known where a child needs to go the second I settle on their heads - sometimes even before then._

**Then why wait?**

_For the pleasure of your company, of course._

Hermione shook her head and laughed, curls bouncing merrily around her shoulders.

**I suppose you've met some interesting people over the years?**

_You have been the most interesting person I've met for a very long while._

Hermione had absolutely no idea how to respond to that - she didn't think she was very interesting at all. Her feet started to tap against the polished stone floor.

_Impatient, aren't you?_

**I'm not really sure what to do to help you, Hat. You weren't in any of the books I read about Hogwarts.**

_Then you clearly weren't looking in any of the right places. Regardless, your role in the Sorting - at least, your active role - is limited. I have everything I need right here in your brilliant little head._

Hermione didn't know whether to be annoyed at the Hat's dismissal of her research, pleased at its compliment or uneasy that it was able to rifle through her mind as if it were an open book.

_You're hardly an open book. An extensive library perhaps._

**So I'm a Ravenclaw then?**

_Most definitely. However, I find myself leaning in another direction for your Sorting. You wanted to make friends, did you not?_

**Well, yes, I suppose I -**

But before she could finish her thought, the Hat shifted importantly on her head and exuberantly announced a house that sent her eyebrows shooting skyward.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

Hours later, Hermione lay ensconced within her four poster bed with its thick velvet hangings drawn tightly around her. The crimson bedlinen was deliciously comfortable and she found herself sighing blissfully at the softness of her pillow, full and drowsy from the spectacular welcoming feast.

Her Sorting had been an absolute surprise. Hermione had remained on the stool in disbelief for a few seconds after the Hat's pronouncement and had to be ushered in the direction of her table by a pleased Professor McGonagall, the Hat's parting chuckles echoing oddly in her mind.

Neville had been thrilled. He had bounded to the Gryffindor table so quickly after his Sorting that he had forgotten to take off the Sorting Hat, which had winked at her audaciously as it was being jogged back by a blushing Neville amidst gales of laughter. In a short time they had been joined by both Harry and Ron, to the general excitement of the table, and the feast had begun after a few truly odd words from their new Headmaster.

Never had Hermione enjoyed a meal with her peers and felt like she truly belonged.

The twins had taken it upon themselves to make Hermione laugh at every available opportunity, perhaps sensing her initial discomfort, and despite Hermione's usual dislike of needless tomfoolery even she could see what a brilliant pair they were. Hermione had learned to value cleverness in whatever form it came - and kindness doubly so.

Conversation had flowed easily, lubricated by good food and drink (even pumpkin juice had somehow gained a new appeal) and the sense of excitement that accompanied a shared new adventure forged quick friendships. She had spoken to each of her year mates at least once, nudging Neville to do the same, and found herself, conceivably for the first time, _comfortable_ around new people.

By the time the feast had wound to an end with the most ridiculous rendition of a school song she had ever heard and the prefects had led them to the portrait of the Fat Lady that guarded their common room Hermione was absolutely and most contentedly exhausted.

The feeling of magic, even high in the dormitories, was strong and thick but not suffocatingly so, an intoxicating combination of a warm blanket and a summer breeze that she wondered how she had lived without for all this time.

The scent of rain lingered in the charged air as her eyes drifted slowly shut, lulled into a deep and comfortable sleep by the soothing thrum of magic around her.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but I needed something to set the scene. Please leave a review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you for your time!**

**I know I'm changing the timeline of the books here but it was the only way their class schedules made sense. **

* * *

Chapter 8: Hades

Hermione had always loved the very beginning of each school year.

The new year meant new books, new knowledge and the fresh feel of new stationary and, even with every year that went by, her excitement couldn't be dampened despite the looming threat of another friendless school term. This time, however, she _did_ have a friend.

She had Neville.

The first year timetable had appeared on each of their bedside tables at some time during the night and Hermione consulted it frequently as she carefully placed the required notes and textbooks into her leather book bag. Hefting the strap over her shoulder, Hermione clattered down the staircase to meet Neville in the common room.

"Breakfast?"

Hermione nodded and they scrambled through the portrait hole into the corridor beyond, frowning as they tried to remember the route to the Great Hall.

"Ah, ickle firsties," chimed Fred and George simultaneously, appearing so suddenly behind them that Neville jumped and squeaked. "Lost already, are we?"

"There should be maps of the school," Hermione groused, Neville nodding emphatically beside her.

The twins smirked irritatingly at her, eyes twinkling, before motioning over the railing to the ever-shifting staircases below. Hermione sighed.

"Follow us, you'll get the hang of it -"

"Sooner or later -"

"Maybe this week -"

" - perhaps this month -"

"We'll make sure you know your way around before you graduate!"

Laughing, Hermione and Neville followed the twins down to breakfast, committing to memory as best they could the location of each trick step and false wall along the way.

On entering the Great Hall Hermione supposed that she had walked into her father's worst nightmare. Owls were streaming through the high arched windows and circling over the tables in such volume that the light from the bewitched ceiling barely filtered to the students below.

Hermione and Neville joined Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table, staring wide-eyed at the owls that dropped letters down to their owners and then down to the selection of breakfast foods. Hermione's nose wrinkled as she watched Ron pour a liberal amount of sugar over his porridge before reaching over to add a swirl of honey to hers instead.

Harry and Ron greeted the pair before focusing on their food once more, both eating with such fervour that made it seem as if they wouldn't get a chance to eat again. Hermione frowned as she examined Harry, noting his smaller frame and the angular lines of his slight face. The healthiest thing about him seemed to be his thick head of messy hair. At his inquiring glance, his cheeks bulging with toast, Hermione quickly smiled and shifted her attention to her porridge.

"Transfiguration first," mumbled Ron around a mouthful of his food. Hermione's nose wrinkled again, to which Ron rolled his eyes and pointedly swallowed his food before continuing to speak.

"I heard Professor McGonagall's pretty strict."

Hermione shook her head, placed her spoon back into its empty bowl and watched as they both disappeared. Magic was just simply amazing.

"She might be a bit strict but she seems fair. She was the one who told me I was a witch."

Ron looked up in surprise, spoon halfway to his mouth and dripping with porridge.

"Really? I didn't know they did that."

"How on earth was I meant to find out about Hogwarts without her Ron?"

Hermione huffed in exasperation when Ron shrugged. Harry put down his half eaten fourth piece of toast, which was liberally coated in jam, and brushed the crumbs from his hands with a satisfied sigh before standing up.

"Hagrid told me that I was a wizard. Best day of my life."

Hermione blinked and grew a little more worried at the grimness that tinged his statement. Ron shovelled the last bite of his third bowl of porridge into his mouth and stood as well, yanking the fraying strap of his book bag over his shoulder. Harry looked back at Neville and Hermione as he started to walk away.

"We'd better go - if we get lost like Ron and I did getting here this morning we're going to be late to our first class!"

* * *

Hermione settled next to Neville and placed her Transfiguration textbook precisely at the left upper corner of her desk, standing her ink pot next to it and positioning her quill beside the fresh sheet of parchment in front of her. Folding her hands in her lap, Hermione stared at the handsome mahogany desk at the head of the classroom. A silver tabby sat imperiously upon its polished surface, occasionally twitching its whiskers and flicking its tail. Hermione felt as if a warm breeze had ruffled her hair upon meeting its glowing eyes but with a quick glance around the room she noted the windows and doors were securely shut.

"How very curious," she murmured, staring at the cat. It stared unnervingly back. Hermione smiled.

The chattering that echoed against the high ceilings of the classroom came to an abrupt halt as the cat jumped from the desk. Professor McGonagall landed smoothly and silently in front of them in its place.

"Bloody hell," whispered Ron from the desk behind Neville's as Hermione felt a thrill run through her chest.

She had never felt more alive in her life.

* * *

Towards the end of her first Transfiguration lesson Hermione, and every other student in Professor McGonagall's first year Ravenclaw and Gryffindor class, realised that magic wasn't as simple as a few odd words and a wave of a wand. Despite having committed the theory to memory Hermione still found herself struggling with the deceptively challenging task of turning a matchstick into a needle.

Perspiration beaded at the back of her neck as Hermione stared down at her matchstick. Beside her Neville looked forlorn as he clutched his wand, face reddened and sweaty with effort. Ron was muttering furiously under his breath behind them as he prodded at his matchstick in frustration. When Hermione glanced back Harry was poring over his textbook, eyebrows pulled down into a frown and wand held aloft.

Her magic felt weak, like sea spray against a jagged cliff face, but as she cast the spell for what seemed like the thousandth time she noticed a little spark in her chest. The matchstick in front of her had sharpened almost imperceptibly at one end.

Eyes wide, Hermione concentrated on the new sensation and cast the spell again - this time feeling a tiny flush of magic race from her chest to her fingertips. The matchstick lightened in colour.

Professor McGonagall, who had been prowling around the classroom correcting pronunciation and wand movements, stopped in front of her desk. Hermione glanced up and her and then back at her matchstick at the professor's encouraging nod.

With a whisper Hermione pushed at her magic and felt it flow a little more freely, gasping as it tingled pleasantly through her fingers into her wand. Professor McGonagall gifted her with a rare smile and picked up her matchstick to show the rest of the class how it had turned sharp and silver, bestowing five points to their house.

Hermione, though quite pleased at the praise, was still a little irritated that she hadn't managed the eye of the needle. Before she could try again however, the bell had rung and Professor McGonagall was issuing homework as she ushered them out of her classroom.

* * *

Charms was a pleasant class - or, at least, it would have been had it not been a combined one with the Slytherins.

Professor Flitwick was a diminutive man with a fluttering personality that seemed bigger than he was and cloudy white hair that sprung haphazardly from under his wizard's hat. Harry had blushed brilliantly when the professor had toppled from his stool in excitement after calling his name, ducking his head until the pink had faded from his cheeks.

Neville and Hermione had sat themselves at a curved desk near the middle of the round room beside Lavender and Parvati, pulling out their heavy charms textbooks and placing them beside the large white feathers that already sat at their desks. Harry and Ron had meanwhile settled themselves next to Seamus and Dean with some good natured jostling.

Hermione twitched when Professor Flitwick announced that they would be learning the levitation spell, eyes flickering up despite herself to meet Draco Malfoy's across the room. He was smirking at her knowingly, eyes sharp and mocking.

Biting her lip and glancing away Hermione could barely listen to the professor's lecture, instead focusing on the fine barbs that grew from the rachis of her feather and the dust motes that caught the air around it. When it came time to cast the spell she paused and instead watched as Neville tried. Her lips pressed together as she caught the mistake in his pronunciation.

"Try elongating the 'oh'," she whispered, smiling a little as his feather trembled with his next attempt.

There was a flash of light as Seamus' feather caught fire and Hermione couldn't help but snort softly as Lavender jumped with a squeal. Harry wasn't faring any better, his feather stubbornly clinging to his desk as - despite his perfect pronunciation - his swish was too short and his flick too long. Dean was almost doubled with laughter as Ron windmilled his long arms in his attempt to send the feather skyward.

Feeling eyes burning into the top of her head, Hermione looked up to see Malfoy sneering at her, leaning his elbow on the table insolently with his face cupped in his hand, wand held lightly in his slender fingers. She watched as he lazily sent his feather into the air, eyes never leaving hers, and bristled at his condescending expression.

She sharply shoved back the sleeves of her robes and with a delicate hand _swished-and-flicked_ and pushed her magic with a murmur at the feather, watching as it floated gracefully into the air.

Malfoy twitched his wand in a mean little salute towards her and turned dismissively to bask in the rapturous adoration of the pug-nosed girl that sat beside him.

Hermione scoffed and turned to Neville, eyes brightening as his feather jerked into the air, and refused to glance towards the Slytherins for the remainder of the lesson.

* * *

Most of the week flew by in a whirl of new classes.

Hermione had sent an absurdly long letter to her parents and received an equally lengthy one in return, congratulating her on her house placement and the success of her first few lessons.

Although accustomed to the tingle of magic in the air and the taste of it on her tongue she was more aware of it than ever - likely due to the way her hair still sparked at the ends and become more uncontrollable with every spell she cast. She had politely declined Lavender's offer to tame it for her, knowing that trusting her fellow first year with a dubious spell would either fail to provide results or, more likely, make the situation irreparably worse.

History of Magic was unapologetically dull, which annoyed Hermione to no end as she knew how interesting history could really be, and although the stars had been beautiful for the first few minutes of their midnight Astronomy lesson Hermione didn't understand why they couldn't simply learn from star charts or projections.

Defence was a downright joke. Ron spared no kindness towards their stuttering professor outside his garlic-scented classroom and Hermione was inclined to agree with his assessment - Professor Quirrell seemed more likely to flee than fight (or faint, as Harry had chuckled whilst rubbing at his scar) if faced by a dangerous situation.

Herbology was where Neville came to life. Hermione joyously watched as, three times a week, Neville would emerge from his shell and astound the class with his seemingly limitless knowledge of various magical flora. He had quickly become Professor Sprout's clear favourite and had a way with plants that would have made Hermione jealous if she didn't know how much being brilliant at something meant to him.

The immediate hour or two after their lessons consisted of revision or 'homework time' as mandated by a strict Hermione, which she approached with enthusiasm and Neville with weary patience, before the rest of the afternoon was wiled away at various locations around the castle.

Neville preferred the outdoors, either in the greenhouses (he had already been given a special pass by Professor Sprout to enter the less dangerous ones even when she wasn't around) or the shores of the Great Lake, where he liked to stand knee deep in the icy waters as he fished out various aquatic plants with delighted exclamations.

Hermione preferred the library. She had found a secluded table in a little alcove towards the back and could be found there without fail in the hour after dinner, where the light filtered through the stained glass window that overlooked the lake and danced across the pages of the books she devoured.

The magic that settled amongst the books was soft and warm and old and Hermione could easily spend hours winding through the stacks, trailing her fingers over the spines of ancient books and feeling their magic brush against hers.

* * *

Before they knew it the Friday of their first week was upon them and despite the clear sky above there was a sense of gloom as the Gryffindors trudged in a tight little pack down to the dungeons for their first Potions lesson.

Harry, Ron, Neville and Hermione had squished behind a bench towards the back of the glacial room and Hermione deliberately kept her eyes away from the students whose robes were trimmed in Slytherin green. The bullying had already begun, subtly and softly but undoubtably there, and Hermione had learned to keep her eyes downcast in the corridors to avoid their malicious sneers.

Having Neville as a friend helped. Though he was ridiculed just as much as she was it was a relief and a source of strength to them both that they were going through the same thing. Ron, although a little mean himself, had enough of the same protective streak the twins had inherited that he took to purposefully shouldering the first year Slytherins as he walked past when he noticed a harsh word or hostile glance. Harry reminded Hermione of a beaten dog, shying away from a threat with a ferocious gleam in his eyes that had her worried about the inevitable moment he would finally snap.

The door at the side of the classroom closest to the teacher's desk slammed open and Hermione winced as Neville dropped his textbook in alarm. Her eyes tracked Professor Snape warily as he stalked to the front of the room, robes swirling impressively around his feet, observing apprehensively as he glared at the Gryffindor side of the classroom.

He sneered as he called each of their names, pausing at Harry's with a derisive comment that made Hermione frown. His voice was barely a whisper as he waxed poetic about the art of potion-making, eyes as deep and dark as the midnight waters of the Great Lake.

The chill of the classroom settled in her chest and Hermione sidled closer to a trembling Neville for warmth, steeling herself for the next few hours of their class.

Hermione hated bullies.

* * *

**A/N: ****Please do leave a review! **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you for your time! **

* * *

Chapter 9: Cerberus 

Hermione stalked out of the potions classroom bristling with barely contained anger, Neville trotting meekly by her side. Even the glares of the Slytherins hadn't been enough to cow her and Draco Malfoy had actually physically recoiled at the venom in her eyes. Harry and Ron followed quietly, eyebrows raised.

"What a _horrid_ man!"

Hermione threw her book bag down onto the desk with a clatter in an abandoned classroom and whirled to face the three boys.

"What an _absolutely_ _horrid_ man!"

Neville tripped over his feet as he backed away from her, wincing at her screech.

"Hermione," murmured Harry, looking genuinely concerned at her outburst.

"No, Harry! That was _just_ _unbelievable_! For a _professor_ at a _school_ to behave in this way is just- just-"

Unable to manage an adequate descriptor for Professor Snape's conduct she made an inarticulate sound of rage and slammed herself into one of the chairs, fuming silently.

"Hermione, it's alright," Harry tried again, eyebrows disappearing under his fringe and he reached over and tentatively patted her on the shoulder. To his horror, Hermione burst into tears and a quick glance over his shoulder proved to him that Ron and Neville were just as bemused as he was.

"Teachers are - are supposed to be fair," she hiccupped, furious at herself for her tears which only made them fall harder - to the boys' collective discomfort and her absolute frustration.

Potions had progressed just as badly as it had begun. Professor Snape took an inordinate amount of pleasure in needling Harry, asking questions well beyond the scope of the first half of their _Magical Drafts and Potions_ book to the delighted giggles of the Slytherin students. Hermione had even stood up at one point, arm stretched high into the air in an attempt to distract the professor from his relentless assault, but had sat down in her chair in shock at his snarled rebuke.

She had spent the rest of the lesson on high alert, grabbing Neville's wrist before he had dropped in the porcupine quills at the wrong moment - but had _lost points_ for _interfering_ with another student's potion. The Slytherins did all they could to unnerve Neville, like a vicious pack of wolves targeting the weakest in the herd, hissing insults that she was sure the professor could very well hear. What had sent her over the edge from incredulous anger to rage however was _Professor Snape's_ name-calling.

'Idiot boy', he had spat at Neville, berating him for _nearly_ botching the potion, all the while conveniently ignoring the smoking curdled lump that sat at the bottom of Crabbe's cauldron.

Hermione had seethed for the remainder of the lesson, methodically completing her potion to what she knew was a very high standard, hair sparking at the ends at the praise she should have received but didn't. Draco Malfoy had paraded past at the end of the lesson with his aristocratic nose stuck high in the air, a vial of his admittedly near perfect potion clutched in his slender fingers and an aggravating smirk curling his lips.

"My brothers told me to watch out for Snape," Ron began, ignoring Hermione's muffled objection at not using his academic title. "He's been like this for as long as he's been here - even before he was a professor."

"I can't believe he's allowed to teach."

Hermione wiped her face with the sleeve of her robe, smiling gently at Neville who had offered her a clean but crumpled white handkerchief and stood, brushing the dust from her skirt.

"In my world this wouldn't have gone on for so long," she said, gathering her book bag and walking out of the room.

* * *

Harry, Ron and Neville followed Hermione as she silently wound her way through the corridors to a nondescript door on the fourth floor. Professor McGonagall answered after a single crisp knock, frowning down at her four students.

"Shouldn't you all be at lunch?"

"Please Professor, could we have a minute of your time?"

Harry glanced at Hermione who was looking up at their professor, eyes wide and innocent, fringed with lashes that had been darkened by her earlier tears. Even _his_ heart tugged at the sight and he couldn't help his little grin as he realised what Hermione was doing.

Professor McGonagall placed a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder and guided them into the room.

* * *

"I thought you couldn't lie," smirked Harry after they were shown out of the professor's office. Hermione huffed and strode away from them, starting to descend down a nearby staircase.

"I wasn't lying! I told the truth," she snapped. Ron shook his head as he followed her, motioning for Neville and Harry to come along. Hermione paused and looked back at them, eyebrows pulling into a frown.

"I just made the truth a little more compelling," she murmured. "It didn't help though - at least, not for now."

The sound of grinding stone was nearly deafening as the staircase suddenly began to shift. Neville squeaked and grabbed onto the railing as Ron snorted with laughter.

"What do you mean, 'not for now'," asked Neville, ignoring Ron.

"Well, to get anything done you need to gather enough evidence. We've told our head of house and we have to keep doing it so she can keep a record. She basically told us as much - weren't you listening?"

"Well, to be fair Hermione it was hard to keep up. You sounded like you were speaking in code."

"She can't outright tell us to try and get Professor Snape fired, can she?" Hermione shot back at Harry.

The boys stepped off the staircase onto the new landing and walked into the darkened corridor, Hermione muttering furiously under her breath as she followed.

"Where are we?"

Neville's whisper jolted Hermione out of her whirling thoughts and she glanced around in alarm.

"Oh, no," she whispered fretfully. "This is the third floor corridor - the one we aren't supposed to be in!"

They turned to leave but a shadow crossed the landing and a sinister voice echoed down the hallway.

"Is someone there, my darling?"

There was a little yowl and a hiss.

"Mrs Norris," Ron gasped, face pale with horror as he turned to Harry.

"Quick," whispered Harry, turning to a door and attempting to open it without making too much noise.

"Move over," Hermione said, nudging him out of the way and unlocking the door with a twist of her wand and a whisper.

The four first years tiptoed into the darkened room, shutting the door quietly behind them. Hermione rested her forehead against the closed door, straining to hear what was happening outside.

She registered in the back of her mind that Neville was mumbling her name but she was too busy having her own whispered conversation with Harry and Ron.

"- can't _believe_ you led us into a forbidden corridor, I mean _you_ of _all people_ -"

"- that's a little unfair Ron -"

"- a little unfair, Harry!? Don't tell me you're siding with _her_ -"

"- _siding with me?!_ _You_ led us here, _I_ got us through the door -"

"Hermione," Neville squeaked louder, to which the remaining three first years whirled around, annoyed.

"_What_, Neville?!" Ron's snarl died in his throat as his eyes landed on the monster laying in the far corner of the cavernous room.

Hermione's heart thudded loudly in her chest.

"Is that a _cerberus_," she whispered, eyes roaming over its three gigantic heads with their bloodshot eyes just starting to flutter open and focus horrifyingly on them. Its magic was like an earthquake heaving violently against hers and Hermione felt almost suffocated by the musty smell of rain-drenched fields that saturated the air.

"Back away slowly," Harry said quietly, reaching out his arms and pressing them back against the other three first years.

There was a thunderous growl that rattled the door in its frame and the dog stumbled to its feet, the flagstone floor shuddering under its immense paws. The fine hairs at the back of Hermione's neck stood on end and her entire body felt numb, legs trembling as Harry began to frantically shove them back towards their only exit.

Ron's nails scraped against the door as he wrenched it open, tumbling out with Neville at his heels. Harry and Hermione flew out after them, an ear-splitting bark half muffled behind them as they slammed the door shut.

Neville hadn't stopped chanting _ohmerlinohmerlinohmerlin_ since they had laid their eyes on the dog. He was sitting on the cold stone floor, eyes wide and unblinking, lips moving ceaselessly before Hermione sat next to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"What are they _thinking_?" Hermione hissed. "To keep a _cerberus_ in a _school_!"

"Dumbledore did warn us not to come up here," panted Ron, leaning against a nearby pillar for support.

"I mean," Hermione continued, gasping for air. "There isn't enough room for it to move!"

Ron turned and looked at her incredulously.

"_Room_ for it to _move_? _It almost ate us!_"

* * *

Professor McGonagall sat primly in the headmasters office, sipping at a cup of fresh tea. The potions master was glowering in a corner, having refused the headmaster's offer of both tea and lemon drops.

"Now, Minerva," began Professor Dumbledore placatingly.

"Albus, don't even start with me. If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times. This is no way to treat _children_!"

Professor Snape scoffed from the corner.

"Severus made a big sacrifice-"

"No, Albus! We _all_ made sacrifices! _All of us!_"

Professor McGonagall slammed her cup and saucer on the desk, standing abruptly.

"You continue to refuse to listen to me. Children are being affected-"

"_Children_," Professor Snape spat. "I was spared no kindness at their age!"

"And that is a good enough reason to _torture_ them now?!"

"Now, Minerva, surely you exaggerate-"

"_I do not_, Albus," she hissed. "I cannot imagine why you are still protecting this man!"

Professor McGonagall stood and drew herself up to her full height, witch's hat quivering in her rage.

"Listen to me well, Albus. I will not continue to stand for this. You have witches and wizards that have been loyal to you from the beginning - I think it is time you heeded their concerns."

Professor McGonagall turned with a withering glare and a snap of her cloak and stormed out of the office, leaving two silent wizards in her wake.

* * *

Neville sat silently in the flickering firelight, Hermione perched on the arm of his chair. They had spent the afternoon in the library, Neville with a large encyclopaedia of desert plants which seemed to calm him, and Hermione with a dusty old book of Grecian magical creatures. Harry and Ron, who had thrown themselves into the large plush couch after their visit with Hagrid, were quietly discussing their lunchtime adventure.

"Did you see what it was standing on?"

Ron turned to look at Hermione at her interruption.

"I was a little busy concentrating on its heads!"

"A trap door. It's guarding something. Why else would they keep it in the castle?"

Harry glanced at Ron, then leant forward towards Hermione and Neville, lowering his voice even further.

"When Hagrid told me I was a wizard he took me to Diagon Alley. We stopped at Gringott's to pick up some money for my Hogwarts things, but Hagrid stopped at a vault as well. Vault 713."

"His vault?"

"No, I don't think so. He said he was on a special mission for Professor Dumbledore."

"What was in it?"

"A package - a grubby little package. Maybe the size of my fist. He definitely didn't want to tell me too much about it."

Neville looked up from the fire, his voice trembling.

"But what could it be though? Something so important that they needed that _thing_ to guard it?"

Hermione patted him on the shoulder as he shuddered, then turned to Harry.

"What's interesting is that they needed to move it from Gringott's to Hogwarts."

"No," murmured Harry. "What's interesting is that Gringott's was robbed that same day. Ron told me about it on the train. When we visited Hagrid today-"

"- he definitely knew something about it. Whoever robbed Gringott's wanted whatever Hagrid took out, and I bet that's what the dog was guarding," interrupted Ron quietly.

The hiss and crackle of the fire was the only sound in the Gryffindor Common Room as the four first years stared into the flames, deep in thought. Ron suddenly snorted and the other three jumped, startled.

"Room to move," he chuckled. "Honestly Hermione, you've got to sort out your priorities."

* * *

**A/N: Please leave a review!**


End file.
